Return To Innocence
by Cricket24
Summary: The continued story of Dogma. It has been a year and a half since that fateful day at the Catholic Church in New Jersey. But certain things were left unfinished and God has a plan to set things right. Chapter 10 is up! More chapters are on the way!
1. A Familiar Stranger

Return to Innocence: The Aftermath of Dogma  
  
By: Cricket  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They are either from the Bible or from the incredible imagination of Kevin Smith (except for the characters that you don't recognize – they're mine). Please do not sue. I have no money.  
  
^ ^ ^ ^  
  
The alley was dark and the wind was cold. Dead leaves blew recklessly around the woman's feet as she increased her speed to her car. Bethany Sloan felt disturbance in the air as she cradled her young child in her arms. The alley was empty, but somehow, Bethany did not feel alone. Something was not right tonight. Someone was watching her.  
  
Bethany wiped her long dark-brown locks from her eyes as she hugged her baby tighter to her chest. Everything seemed fine, but something in her gut was telling her to hurry to her car. If she could just get to her car . . .  
  
"Hey, lady? Where are you going in such a hurry?" a deep voice came from the darkness. Bethany's heart jumped into her throat as she froze in her tracks. "We need to talk to you." A large bald-headed, muscled man, draped in a blood red silk shirt, emerged from the shadows. His piercing black eyes bore into Bethany's.  
  
"Look, I don't want any trouble." Bethany retreated a few steps from the man who was now wearing a menacing grin on his face. But, she stopped suddenly when another voice called from the shadows.  
  
"Neither do we. So, if you just hand over the child, quietly, there won't be any trouble."  
  
Bethany's heart raced. //Oh, God,// she thought. But, her fierceness surprised even her. "Over my dead body," she hissed. Bethany's trembling hands betrayed her.  
  
"What's the matter? Are you scared . . . Bethany?"  
  
Her name on a third man's lips sent chills down Bethany's spine. "How – How do you know my name?" she stuttered, cursing her fear.  
  
The three men, all adorned in red silk shirts, all of their hairless heads gleaming in the moonlight, encircled Bethany and her child. "We know all, Bethany," they recited in eerie unison.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"We've come for the child," the first man spoke. "We've come for Grace." He took another step towards her.  
  
//How could they know my baby's name? What do they want?// Bethany wracked her brain for answers, but her thoughts were cut when one of the men with the steely eyes caught her arm. She let out an involuntary yelp.  
  
"Please!" It was her last chance, or so she thought.  
  
"Let her go." The words chilled the air like ice. The three men spun around and searched the dark alley for the owner of the livid voice. "I said, Let . . . her . . . go." The words were spoken in a mere whisper, but they rolled through the deserted alleyway like roaring thunder. A shadowy figure appeared in the dim light of a flickering street lamp. All Bethany could make out was a tall shadow of a man wearing a black trench coat and a hood, covering the face of her would-be savior.  
  
The three men chuckled evilly, but moved away from Bethany and began making their way towards the man in the trench coat. She would have let out a sigh of relief, but she didn't dare make a noise. This was not over. Bethany watched as the hooded man took her place as the three ominous men circled him.  
  
"What have we here?" One began with a laugh.  
  
"Someone trying to be a hero, perhaps?" Another chanted.  
  
"Maybe you should mind your own business, man." The third one chimed in.  
  
The man in the trench coat didn't utter a word. He let the looming men tighten their circle around him. His face was still hidden by the hood, but Bethany could see no sign of fear from him. He stood tall and strong; not flinching when one of the men made the first move.  
  
A large fist screamed towards the hooded man's face. But he dodged it with ease and countered with a jab to his attacker's abdomen, sending the man to his knees with a grunt. Bethany feared her eyes had betrayed her as she watched a large baseball bat seem to materialize from thin air into the hands of one of the silk-shirted men. He patted the bat rhythmically into his palm as he eyed his opponent with interest.  
  
"You're out of your league here, boy. You don't know who you're dealing with." The man stopped pacing and faced his opponent directly.  
  
"Don't I?" Came the flat reply from the mysterious, hooded man.  
  
Bethany wanted to run. Grace began to stir in her arms and the last thing she needed right now was for her daughter to start crying. But, for some reason, Bethany could not take her eyes from the hooded man. //Who is he?// She wondered. //And why should he care about saving me?//  
  
All three of the giant menacing men were on their feet again and more enraged than ever. And that's when it started: one of the most terrible fights that Bethany had ever witnessed. The four men became a jumble of blurred images, seeming to move faster than her eyes could follow. Cries of pain from fists meeting flesh echoed through the alley as the men continued to pummel each other. Incredibly, it looked as if the hooded man was gaining the advantage, until that very thought entered Bethany's mind – almost as if it cursed him. Thrown off-guard by dodging a punch from one steely-eyed man, Bethany's savior hurled himself directly in front of the man with the baseball bat...and it was too late for a warning.  
  
The sound the man's flesh made when the bat connected with his ribcage was something Bethany never wanted to hear again. He cried out in agonizing pain as he doubled over, his knees smacking the pavement with a resounding thud. The cackling commenced from his attackers as they stood over him.  
  
"You have failed," one spoke as the laughter subsided. The hooded man did not look up. "Now, show yourself, so we may see who it is we destroy!" Without warning, the steely-eyed man grabbed the hood and ripped it from the fallen man's head. An angelic face looked up in anger. The three men gasped loudly and stumbled backward.  
  
"No," one whispered shakily. "It can't be."  
  
Bethany strained her eyes to see the man's face, but the others were blocking her view. But then a word was uttered that made Bethany gasp just as loudly.  
  
"Angel," the man with the baseball bat whispered; his eyes wide with fear.  
  
The blood red silk-shirted men all retreated a few steps farther as the man in the trench coat began to rise to his feet again. And that's when Bethany saw him. "Oh my God," she whispered lightly enough that only she could hear. Her mind raced as fast as her heart, but her eyes stayed riveted on the man as he shakily stood and faced his attackers. His eyes burned with fury; a fury that Bethany had seen before; a fury she had known all too well. The fury of Bartleby.  
  
But, Bartleby didn't have to say a word. His face said it all and it drove tremendous fear into the three men who, instantaneously, broke into a run for the shelter of the shadows. And they didn't look back. Bartleby watched them until he could no longer feel their presence and then his angry eyes fell and the pain on his face was unmistakable.  
  
Bethany gasped as he finally looked over at her. But, his mannerisms were no longer threatening. He leaned over slightly as he grabbed his chest and winced in pain. He may have been able to fool his attackers, but it was plainly evident to Bethany now: He was badly hurt.  
  
Bartleby chanced one last glance at Bethany and then, no longer able to support his own weight, he stumbled forward and then toppled to the ground.  
  
Bethany's first instinct was to run. She turned in the opposite direction and took one step away......and then stopped. She clenched her eyes shut tightly and cursed under her breath. Bethany couldn't help but think of the last time she saw Bartleby. He had a knife to her throat and was determined to destroy the existence of Earth. She remembered the bloody scene as she and others came upon the Catholic Church to stop the angel from entering. Bartleby was a cold-hearted killer, the likes of which she never thought she see again.  
  
She turned back to look at the heaped body that lay in the middle of the dark alley.  
  
She couldn't help but remember the look in Bartleby's eyes just before he collapsed to the pavement. They weren't the same furious eyes that she had remembered from the past. They were different somehow; soft; weary; sad even. And above everything else, whether Bethany wanted to admit it or not, Bartleby had just saved her life – and not only her life, but Grace's too. She couldn't deny that.  
  
She slowly but steadily walked over to the body on the ground. She knelt at his side and gently touched his pale cheek. He was unconscious. Bethany felt the heat of his increasingly warm flesh. He needed help...*She* needed help. Grace began to stir again and a whimper escaped her lips.  
  
"Shhh," Bethany comforted. "Oh, what am I going to do?" Bethany's voice trembled as she spoke. She was afraid. What if those men came back for Grace now? Bartleby was in no shape to fight them off again. She dug into her purse and retrieved her cell phone. She prayed as she dialed that the phone connection would be strong. She was in the middle of nowhere, after all, and her cell phone never worked half the time anyway. But, faith was on Bethany's side tonight and she sighed with relief as she heard a "hello" on the other end of the line.  
  
^ ^ ^ ^  
  
She gently dabbed at Bartleby's forehead with a cool, damp cloth. Bethany took notice of his wounds that saved her tonight. He sported a rosy-red cheek from a fist that he couldn't escape. She had bandaged his arm which was ripped open as if a tiger's fierce claws had sliced at him. And his ribcage was already black and blue and green and purple from the effects of the baseball bat.  
  
She sat at his side on her sofa and continued to trail the cool washcloth across his forehead and down his neck. He was burning up and the cloth, frequently dipped in ice-water, was the only thing Bethany knew of to help bring his fever down.  
  
She and her roommate, Kirsten, who Bethany had called earlier, brought Bartleby back to their place, stripped him to his T-shirt and boxers, dressed his wounds and laid him snuggly underneath a soft, warm blanket on the couch in the living room. Not once, through the whole ordeal, did he awaken.  
  
Bethany looked him over thoroughly, noticing that his hair was a tad bit longer since she last saw him, just enough to be spiky and disheveled. But, everything else about him she remembered to be the same. His broad shoulders and towering height were as intimidating as ever, but his angelic face completely juxtaposed the fierceness of his body type. To Bethany, Bartleby looked like a helpless child laying beside her right now. A child that could never even hurt a fly. But, Bethany knew, first hand, that looks could be deceiving.  
  
"He doesn't look so good, Bethany. I think he might need a doctor." Kirsten stood above them with a concerned look on her innocent face. Her green eyes stayed transfixed on Bartleby's still body.  
  
"No, a doctor won't be able to help him."  
  
"What do you mean?" Kirsten glanced at Bethany.  
  
"I just know, okay. A doctor won't help. You just have to trust me on this." Bethany spoke firmly, but not angrily. She returned her attention back upon the sleeping Bartleby. "This is all we can do, for now."  
  
Kirsten nodded. She wasn't one to argue with Bethany and besides, most of the time, Bethany was right anyway. "What happened out there tonight, Bethany?"  
  
Bethany closed her eyes slowly. She didn't want to talk about it now, but she knew she owed Kirsten some kind of explanation. Truthfully, even Bethany wasn't sure what really happened or what it all meant.  
  
"I'm not sure, really. I took a shortcut back through Lowemann's Alley from the supermarket - which I never bought anything anyway because Grace was getting fussy - so I was almost to the car when these three creepy guys came out of nowhere and tried to, I don't know, mug me?" Bethany knew that wasn't the whole truth, but she figured Kirsten didn't need to know that the men had come for Grace.  
  
"And then he saved you?" Kirsten asked as she pointed at Bartleby.  
  
Bethany nodded. "Yeah, he saved me." A faint smile crept across her lips as she dipped the cloth into the bowl of ice-water again and smoothed it down Bartleby's cheek. "Bartleby saved me." Bethany never thought she would hear herself utter those words.  
  
"Bartleby? That's his name? You know him?" Kirsten was full of questions.  
  
Bethany's head ached and she wished she'd never spoken his name aloud. How much more explaining could she do without letting Kirsten in on too much? She never told her friend of the events that took place at a Catholic Church in New Jersey in the not-so-distant past. Kirsten would probably have never believed her anyway. "Yeah," she began, "I know him. I met him about a year and a half ago through some, uh, through some friends of mine. We haven't kept in touch, though and actually, I thought I'd never see him again."  
  
"Wow! And now, somehow, he shows up just in the nick of time to save you! It must be fate or something."  
  
Her hand stilled at the comment. How was it that Bartleby had known where she was? Where had he come from? They told her he was dead. But, the angel laying before her shattered that truth. Bartleby was here, now. //What *are* you doing here?// This time it was Bethany's fingertips that touched his cheek. She got no reaction from him. His only movement or sign of life was the quiet rise and fall of his chest from his breathing. "Yeah, or something," Bethany repeated in a whisper.  
  
Kirsten twisted her finger in her curly red hair as her green eyes sparkled at Bartleby. "He's cute." She grinned.  
  
Bethany shot her friend a wicked stare. "You stay away from him. Do you hear me, Kirsten? I don't want you in this room alone with him. He's not what you think. He's not this great savior or a knight in shining armor that you're making him out to be. He's here now because he's hurt. As soon as he's well, he'll be leaving, so don't get any ideas." Bethany didn't realize the harshness of her rant until she saw Kirsten's hurt expression.  
  
"But, he saved you and Grace, Bethany. If he's as bad as you say, then why would he do that?"  
  
A muffled baby's cry came from the bedroom. Both Kirsten and Bethany looked towards the bedroom door. "Grace," Bethany whispered.  
  
"I'll go." Kirsten started towards the door. "Besides, I better not stay alone here with Bartleby. He looks dangerous and might jump me at any minute," she mocked hurtfully as she walked through the bedroom door.  
  
Bethany sighed and looked down at Bartleby again. He looked so peaceful now, almost like . . . an angel. She shook her head in frustration. "Why *did* you save us, Bartleby? And what the hell is going on?"  
  
^ ^ ^ ^ 


	2. Awakenings

Return To Innocence: Chapter Two  
  
Bethany was busy in the kitchen, washing the dishes from the dinner that she and Kirsten had just shared. The two had flipped a coin to see who would give Grace her evening bath and who would wash the dishes - and Bethany had lost the coin toss. She hummed a tune as she scrubbed the last of the silverware and placed them into the drying rack.  
  
Her thoughts wandered to the person that was laying in her living room. Bartleby had been unconscious for almost a full twenty-four hours now, but she periodically checked on him to make sure that he was, in fact, still alive and, in Bethany's own thoughts, *real*.  
  
Thinking about Bartleby made Bethany want to look in on him. She drained the water in the sink and dried her raison-wrinkled hands on the dish towel and then wandered into the dark living room.  
  
The blackness of the room startled her senses, but as she walked towards the sofa, her eyes began to adjust to the shady world around her. She heard the muffled sounds of splashing and giggling as Kirsten continued to enjoy bathing Grace in the bathroom at the far end of the house. She smiled at the thought of them. By the time she sat on the edge of the coffee table next to the sofa and leaned to brush the bangs from Bartleby's forehead, Bethany's could see all the details of the room as if she were sitting in broad daylight. But she also saw that Bartleby's condition had not changed.  
  
His face was ashen and clammy and a shimmer of perspiration still clung to his hair near his temples. His flesh was very warm to the touch, which indicated to Bethany that his fever had not yet gone down. Although still unconscious, his facial features were no longer calm and expressionless, but contorted in a way as if he were in pain. But he did not move as Bethany trailed a cool washcloth down his neck. She dipped the cloth into the ever-present bowl of water - that no longer had traces of ice - and softly dabbed at the perspiration around his hairline.  
  
//Maybe he *does* need a doctor,// she thought worriedly. //But angels don't need doctors..do they? But, then again, angels can't be hurt by baseball bats either, I don't think.// She continued to ponder the situation when she heard footsteps enter the dark room. She turned to see Kirsten standing behind her, her eyes on Bartleby.  
  
"I put Grace down for the night," Kirsten whispered. "How is he?" she asked as she took a seat beside Bethany.  
  
Bethany sighed. "Not good." She was surprised to hear the tremble in her own voice. Bethany didn't understand why she was feeling so concerned and protective of Bartleby. Yes, he had saved her and Grace, but this was the same angel that was willing to destroy the existence of earth just so he could prove God wrong and get back into heaven. But, to be fair, she hadn't seen or heard from Bartleby or any of the other angels or muses or apostles or even God, in a very long time. Things change; people change; and maybe angels change too. After all, Bartleby was said to be dead and although he didn't look too good right now, he *was* alive and back on earth. If she could just talk to him, maybe he would be able to tell her what was going on.  
  
"Uh, Bethany?" Kirsten whispered shakily.  
  
Bethany was so wrapped up in thought that she jumped at hearing Kirsten's voice. But Bethany didn't turn to Kirsten. She couldn't. Her eyes were transfixed on Bartleby's. They were open and shining brilliantly in the moonlight.  
  
Bethany withdrew her hand and washcloth from his forehead, but continued to stare at the now conscious angel. She felt her heart race with fear for just a split second, but her nerves calmed and her stare softened as she looked down upon Bartleby's frightened expression. *He* was scared. He blinked a few times as his eyes darted from Bethany to Kirsten and then back again. His heavy breathing increased. Bethany figured he was trying to recover his memory of what happened.  
  
"Its okay, Bartleby," Bethany heard herself say in a soothing voice. "Some men jumped us in the alley, remember? You were hurt, so my friend and I brought you back here, to our place." His expression didn't change. "It's me, Bethany, you remember, right? Bartleby?" She spoke softly, trying to convey friendship..or *hoping* to convey it. Kirsten kept quiet, content with letting Bethany take control of the situation.  
  
Bartleby looked at Bethany and slowly opened his mouth to speak, but the word that left his lips was not anything that Bethany had expected to hear.  
  
"Loki," he rasped dazedly.  
  
She shook her head. "No, it's Bethany, Bethany Sloan."  
  
Bartleby shifted and started to push himself up. "I have to get to Loki," he continued. But he only raised himself a few inches before he winced and cried out in pain, slumping back onto the soft pillows of the sofa. His ribs were on fire and his body felt heavier than lead. His head pounded in his ears and a wave of nausea seized his senses as a spell of vertigo overtook him. He clenched his eyes shut and willed the unpleasant sensation to pass.  
  
"You're in no shape to go anywhere, right now." Bethany placed her palm to his damp forehead. "You still have a high fever and you need to rest." She spoke to him sternly, but tenderly. When his eyes met hers, her breath caught in her throat. His eyes looked the same as they did before, in the alleyway; soft and weary. He winced again and then closed his eyes and slowly opened them. Bethany knew she was about to lose him to unconsciousness once again. She desperately wanted to know what was going on and why he was here and why he had saved her, but her maternal instinct and nurturing nature kicked in and she leaned over and pulled the blanket up to his neck.  
  
"But, I have to--"  
  
"Shh, sleep now," she cut him off, mid-sentence and saw that his eyelids grew heavier. "It's alright, Bartleby," she soothed as she watched him fight to stay awake. Bethany picked up the damp cloth again and traced it across his forehead and down is cheek. She repeated the motion until his eyes closed and did not re-open. "It's alright," she whispered again as Bartleby drifted off to sleep once more.  
  
Bethany drew in a deep shaky breath as her hand dropped from Bartleby's face. She closed her eyes and sighed. She wasn't quite sure how she felt at that moment; scared; relieved; inquisitive; tired? Well, she was definitely tired.  
  
"Okay, he's asleep again." Bethany stood up and stretched. "And we've had a long day; I think I'm going to turn in too." She turned to Kirsten and smiled, but Kirsten was not looking at Bethany, probably not even paying attention to her. Her eyes were fixated on the sleeping Bartleby. "Kirsten?" Bethany called.  
  
"What aren't you telling me about him, Bethany?" Kirsten's eyes didn't leave Bartleby as she spoke.  
  
Bethany tried to play dumb. "What are you talking about? I told you, he's just someone from my past. Just-"  
  
"Yeah, someone from your past. That's really descriptive and enlightening." Kirsten interrupted. "I may be naïve at times, but I'm not stupid. I saw how he looked at you Bethany. He was *scared*. Why would he be scared of you?" She finally looked at her friend.  
  
"Kirsten, he woke up, hurt, in a strange house, in strange surroundings in the dark, no less. He wasn't scared of me. He was just startled by the peculiarity of it all. If you were him in this circumstance, wouldn't you be a bit scared?" Bethany lied. She hated lying to her friend, but the less of the truth that Kirsten knew the better. Bethany wanted to know more about what was going on and why strange men cornered her in an alley and knew her name and wanted to take away Grace and why Bartleby was back from the dead and knew where she was and saved her. There were too many questions that Bethany needed answered before she could come clean with the truth to Kirsten. And tonight was not the night for any of it. Bethany found herself gazing at Bartleby again.  
  
"Bethany?"  
  
Bethany knew what Kirsten's next question was going to be, so she wracked her brain for an answer that would suffice for the moment, but no answer was coming to her. "Hmm?" she replied hesitantly.  
  
"Who's Loki?"  
  
^ ^ ^ ^ 


	3. Human

^ ^ ^ ^  
  
A knock came at the front door that startled Bethany from a deep, yet restless, slumber. She was curled up on the reclining chair in the living room; the blanket that had covered her during the night was now heaped on the floor near her feet. She stretched and blinked a few times to let her eyes adjust to the morning rays of sunlight that shown brightly through the bay window.  
  
Her first glance was at the digital clock atop the television set that read 8:09am. Kirsten must have left for work over an hour ago, so Bethany knew she had to answer the door. She sighed heavily, not wanting to move from her spot. Her eyes wandered towards the sofa, only a few feet from her. Bartleby's long frame was still laying there underneath a thick, warm blanket.  
  
"How come *your* blanket didn't find the floor?" she asked him, sleepily. He didn't answer. He was as quiet and tranquil as ever. She smiled as she watched him sleep.  
  
Bethany had worried that Bartleby would awaken again during the night, so she decided to sleep in the living room, enabling her to hear both Bartleby and Grace if either of them needed her. Grace's nursery room was certainly in ear-shot, but neither Grace nor Bartleby stirred at any hour of the dark.  
  
The knock came at the door again, a little louder this time.  
  
"Okay, I'm coming. I'm coming," Bethany groaned impatiently as she lifted herself off of the chair. She grabbed her robe and covered herself as she groggily ambled towards the front door. "Who could it be at this hour?" she wondered aloud.  
  
She peered out through the small glass window of the door and what she saw drew the breath from her lungs. //You have *got* to be kidding me. This is not happening.// Bethany settled herself from the initial shock, took a deep breath and slowly opened the door.  
  
And there he stood; hands raised in defense as his crystal blue eyes darted shyly from Bethany to the ground.  
  
Loki.  
  
"Please, I don't mean any harm. I - I know what you must be thinking, but I'm not here to start any kind of trouble. I swear." Loki stuttered for the right words. He shifted his weight uneasily as he continued to almost cower in Bethany's presence. His eyes met hers for only a second before he gazed at the ground once again. "I know this is going to sound crazy, but I just need to know . . . . . . I just want to know if - " He stopped and took a breath. Bethany heard the tremble in his voice as he exhaled. Then he looked her straight in the eye. "I just wanted to know if you've seen Bartleby."  
  
He was alive. Loki was alive! But Bethany had seen him die - seen him murdered at the hands of the angel who was now, for reasons she couldn't fathom, laying hurt in her living room. She had seen Loki die with her own eyes. But here he stood at her front door, alive as the night she'd seen him on the train. But how? Bethany had explained Bartleby's outburst about Loki to Kirsten. She told Kirsten that Loki was "Bartleby's best friend". But how could one's killer be considered a "best friend"? But Loki was here, now, at her front door - *not* killed - *not* dead. He was alive and looking for his "best friend".  
  
Bethany could not mistake the distress she heard in Loki's voice and the evident pain she saw in his eyes. He was worried about Bartleby. Very worried. He waited as patiently as he could for her answer. Bethany had so many questions to ask him. There was so much she needed to know. But all that could wait just a little longer. Loki could not. He needed to know about Bartleby *now*. Bethany could almost feel Loki's anticipation of dread or disappointment at what she might say to him.  
  
Her mouth opened and closed in confusion. She was wary of her situation with the two angels who were supposed to be dead. Was she safe with them? Was Grace safe with them? But, Bethany's heart answered those questions: Yes.  
  
"He's here, Loki," Bethany heard herself say, finally.  
  
Loki lowered his hands and blinked as if he heard her wrong. "What?"  
  
"Bartleby is here. He's been here for almost two days now."  
  
"He's in the house? With you?" Loki peered past Bethany to look inside the house, evidently searching to find what Bethany was telling him about.  
  
"He's asleep on the couch. Loki," Bethany touched his shoulder to focus his attention back upon her for a second. He looked at her. "Loki, he's hurt." She tried to break the news as smoothly and softly as possible, but the horrified look that shown on Loki's face made it seem as if she just told him she killed a litter of puppies.  
  
"Hurt?" Loki squeaked.  
  
"Come in." Bethany coaxed Loki into the house and led him to the living room where he saw Bartleby laying unconscious on the couch; just where Bethany had left him. Bartleby looked the same: ashen and motionless.  
  
Loki stumbled towards his angelic companion. He knelt at Bartleby's side and cupped his fallen friend's face in his hand. "Oh, B," Loki sighed. Loki shook his head in frustration. "I shouldn't have let you out of my sight. I knew something was wrong." Then he turned to Bethany. "What happened?"  
  
Bethany told Loki the story of what happened in the alleyway, only this time, she didn't leave out any details like she did when she explained the same story to Kirsten. There was no reason to lie about it to Loki, and maybe he had some answers for why it all happened in the first place.  
  
". . . . . and I think he might have some cracked ribs. The creep with the baseball bat hit him pretty hard. But, I didn't think angels could be harmed by mere mortals."  
  
Loki had been looking at Bartleby until Bethany said that last statement. He glanced over at her with a confused expression, but then returned his eyes upon Bartleby. He mumbled something that Bethany couldn't quite hear.  
  
"What?" Bethany asked.  
  
Loki looked at her again. "Warlocks," he repeated. "The way you described them, that's what I think attacked you."  
  
"What are warlocks?"  
  
"Minions of the devil. Warlocks aren't exactly demons, but they're definitely not human either." Loki's haunted eyes fell upon Bartleby again. "B had a strange feeling. He knew something was up. That must be why he followed you."  
  
"Followed me? Okay, wait. Back up." Bethany became impatient and confused by what she was hearing. "I think you owe me an explanation. I mean, what the hell is going on, Loki? You're supposed to be dead. I *saw* Bartleby kill you!" She noticed Loki wince at her words, but she proceeded. "They told me Bartleby was dead too. But obviously, you're both not. So now I have two angels, who are supposed to be dead as doornails, here in my living room right now! Can you explain that to me, please?" Bethany tried to stay calm, but her voice became frantically raised by the madness of how crazy the scenario sounded. Then she saw Loki shake his head.  
  
"No," he replied softly.  
  
Bethany felt exasperated. "What do you mean, 'no'? 'No', you can't explain what the hell is going on?"  
  
"No," Loki repeated with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I mean, no, you don't have two angels in your living room right now."  
  
"Come again?"  
  
"Human, Bethany. Bartleby and I are human."  
  
^ ^ ^ ^ 


	4. We All Make Mistakes

^ ^ ^ ^  
  
"Do you have any beer?"  
  
Bethany sat down on the chair to steady her nerves. She was shaking. "What?" she asked dazedly.  
  
"Do you have beer? Alcohol? Nip? Drunk-juice? Tipple?" Loki stood up.  
  
"Uh," Bethany put her palm to her forehead and squinted, trying to clear her head enough to think straight. "Yeah, in the fridge in the kitchen." She pointed to the kitchen doorway. Loki was almost to the doorway when she continued, "Wait a minute! Its 8:30 in the morning!" she called to him.  
  
Loki just shrugged. "So?" He disappeared through the door and returned a few seconds later with two bottles of beer in hand. He put one of the bottles down on the coffee table in front of Bethany and opened his own and took a swig. "I need a beer and you sure as hell look like you could use one right about now." He tried to smile, but one glance at Bartleby and Loki's face turned solemn again. He returned to his kneeling position at Bartleby's side.  
  
Bethany took the beer bottle in her hands and stared at the liquid inside it before she spoke again. "You're human? But how can that be?" She twisted the cap off and took a swallow of the cold liquid.  
  
Loki sighed, knowing that his answer would not be a short one. "I don't quite know exactly 'how'. We just are." He looked from Bethany to Bartleby. "And we *can* be hurt. We have all the characteristics and feelings that humans have. We can feel joy, pain, sorrow, happiness, hunger, thirst, sickness, weakness, regret, blah, blah, blah. And we know jealousy and hatred as well as love and . . . free will. All of it, Bethany. Our wings are gone and in their absence we've received some, well, *manly* equipment." He made an indeterminate gesture towards his crotch area. Then he glanced at Bartleby's clothes that were thrown haphazardly over the back of the chair that Bethany was sitting on. "Seeing that you took the liberty of freeing B from his clothes, I thought you might have figured that one out on your own."  
  
Bethany almost choked on her beer. She coughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, gaping at Loki. "We didn't strip him naked! He's wearing a T-shirt and boxer shorts, of course!" She defended herself. "And besides, it's not as if I was *looking* for something like that, Loki." Bethany felt the heat rise in her cheeks at her own comment. She knew she couldn't hide the flush of color on her face. She looked away from him, embarrassed.  
  
Loki smiled at the site of her. "Anyway," he continued with a bit of delight in his voice, "Bartleby and I are red-blooded humans . . . . . and have been for about a year and a half, now."  
  
Bethany composed herself enough to speak again. "But that doesn't explain anything. Why? How? You died, Loki. Bartleby killed you." Bethany regretted saying that, the moment the words left her lips. Loki's brief joyous expression vanished in an instant and his eyes shown vividly with the sting of betrayal.  
  
"Yes," he whispered slowly after a long pause. "I died. And I remember dying, but then the next thing I remember is waking up in an unfamiliar house in Illinois with B asleep in the chair next to me. No explanations. No great wisdom of forgiveness from God. No one to tell us what the hell happened and why we were there. Nothing. We were just back on earth, human, and scared shitless."  
  
"So you have no clue why God sent you back?"  
  
Loki shook his head again. "Nope. We can assume a lot of things, like maybe we were forgiven, but sent here to earth to live out the life of mortals as punishment for our sins. At least, that's the only thing B and I can come up with that makes any amount of sense."  
  
Bethany pondered that statement for a moment. "Turned into humans as punishment? That doesn't sound like something God would do. Maybe you were sent here as more of a kind of learning experience or something, letting you see the world through human eyes instead of the way angels may see it."  
  
"Oh, so being related to The Almighty makes you some kind of expert on the subject?" Loki replied sarcastically. "It doesn't matter, anyway. All we know for sure is that we're here and not in hell - well we're not in Satan's hell, anyway. We all live in our own kind of hell now, don't we?" Loki managed a weak smile, but his words made Bethany wary of what he was really feeling.  
  
She watched as Loki lovingly brushed Bartleby's bangs away from his forehead. Bartleby didn't stir, but he did take a deeper breath than usual, seeming to somehow recognize that Loki was with him. It was heart- wrenching to watch Loki with him. Bethany could see, despite what Bartleby had done in the past, that Loki still had great admiration and love for his friend. She wasn't quite sure if it was appropriate to ask her next question, but she had to know.  
  
"So, you've forgiven him?"  
  
Loki darted his attention toward Bethany with a look of disbelief on his face. "Of course," he said without hesitation. He glared at Bethany as if her question was the most outrageous thing he'd ever heard. "B made a mistake. We all make mistakes."  
  
"But, Loki, he kil-"  
  
"He made a mistake," Loki interrupted with austerity in his voice. "And I have forgiven him. I had to. I can't remember a time when Bartleby was not in my life and I couldn't bear for him not to be now. He's my best friend, Bethany, and we're in this together. If anything were ever to happen to him . . . I don't know what I'd do." He looked back down upon Bartleby. "When he didn't come home the other night, it scared me to death. I'd never felt that helpless before. I was alone. We've never been apart from each other for more than a few hours, so I *knew* something had happened. B wouldn't just leave me like that. Not ever." Loki stopped for fear of the tremble he heard in his own voice. Then he smiled sheepishly. "I'm still getting used to this whole stupid human emotion thing." He shrugged. "Sometimes it can be overwhelming, ya know?"  
  
Bethany nodded and gave him a reassuring smile. Loki took a sip from his beer again, trying to shake off his "stupid human emotion".  
  
"Anyway, I knew B had been watching you - keeping an eye on you, so to speak; making sure you were okay and everything. We figured God placed us in Illinois, near you, for *some* reason, so B figured it was for protection - yours and Grace's protection. B *was* a Watcher, after all, so it was him who'd been lookin' out for you. That's what led me here, today. I knew that when B didn't come home, that he'd been out watching over you and Grace. So I came here asking if you'd seen him, even though I figured it was a long-shot. Because B never let you see him. He was always good at hiding when he 'watched'; good at blending into the background."  
  
"He must have been good at it. I never saw him."  
  
"So, imagine my surprise when you said he was here with you, in your house. Does he know he's here?" Loki looked at Bethany.  
  
She shook her head. "He's been unconscious since the fight. Well, he did wake up for a brief time, last night, but he was so disoriented, I don't quite think he knew where he was. But he asked for you, Loki."  
  
"He did?"  
  
"Yeah, he said he had to get to you."  
  
Loki smiled brighter than ever at Bethany's revelation. "He knew I was alone. He never leaves me alone for too long. He knows I'm a fucking 'scaredy-cat'."  
  
Bartleby groaned softly in his sleep and turned his head slightly which caught both Loki's and Bethany's attention. Neither of them moved for what seemed like an eternity. They both waited to see if Bartleby would wake up, but he didn't shift or make another noise. He remained silent and motionless, once again.  
  
Bethany polished off the remaining drops of her beer and sighed. She leaned back in her chair and took in the sight of the two former angels that now congregated in her small living room. Something in her gut told her that they were here for a reason. //God has a plan. God always has a plan.// And somehow she knew that this was only the beginning of something big. The warlocks, or "the devil's minions", as Loki had put it, were after Grace for a reason, too, and that scared Bethany. But she also realized that Bartleby had been watching over her, protecting her, and coming to her rescue when she most needed it and that gave her great comfort. She knew in her heart that these two former angels meant her no harm. But one lagging question remained in the back of her mind; A question that, even if she asked, would be something that she needed to find out for herself.  
  
"Loki?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Do you trust Bartleby? I mean, even after everything - I *know* you love him, but . . . . do you *trust* him?"  
  
There was a long pause. Loki never glanced away from Bartleby to look Bethany in the eye when he spoke. "With my life."  
  
And that's when they heard the baby begin to cry.  
  
^ ^ ^ ^ 


	5. In Darkness There Will Be Light

^ ^ ^ ^  
  
Bethany brought her little "bundle of joy" out of the nursery and into the living room. The child had tears in her eyes, but she was smiling from ear to ear. Apparently, Grace was just upset that she was not in the same room as the new company. Her eyes danced when she spotted Loki.  
  
Loki smiled back. "Hello, little one." Bethany brought her daughter closer, obviously assured that Loki meant no harm to her daughter. "She's beautiful," Loki said as he got his first up-close glimpse of Grace. "She looks like her mom." Loki watched as his simple comment caused Bethany to blush.  
  
The child had dark-brown, short, curly hair and her chocolate brown eyes were as round as tea saucers. Her little button-nose and rosy cherubic cheeks made her look as if *she* was, in fact, an angel. Her tiny, yet bright smile lit up the room more brilliantly than the jealous sun.  
  
"Thank you," Bethany replied as she ran her fingers through her daughter's hair. "Kirsten says Grace looks like me, too, but I don't know. I don't really have anyone else to compare her to, if you know what I mean."  
  
Loki looked at Bethany and then at Grace again. "She does look like you . . . like a little 'Mini-You'. How old is she?"  
  
"She's about nine months old now, but she acts more like she's fifteen sometimes. She's a handful, that's for sure."  
  
Grace stirred and cooed in her mother's arms as if the child actually understood the conversation between the two adults. Then her tiny tea saucer shaped eyes wandered to the unmoving entity lying on the sofa. Her body seemed to freeze along with her gaze. Bethany noticed this peculiar action from her daughter and became slightly uneasy.  
  
"Are you hungry, honey?" Bethany asked as she started towards the kitchen, consciously leading her daughter away from the sleeping Bartleby. The *sleeping* Bartleby. What harm could he do to her daughter while he was unconscious - *sleeping*? Anyway, Bethany felt more at ease when she entered the kitchen, leaving the living room behind her. But the fact that Grace's beautifully shimmering eyes never left the sight of Bartleby until he was no longer visible, didn't escape Bethany. In fact, Bethany was so caught up in the thought that she almost forgot Loki was in the house as well, until he followed her into the kitchen.  
  
"He won't hurt her," Loki said softly, as if he was reading Bethany's thoughts.  
  
Bethany gave Loki a quizzical look as if his statement came out of nowhere. "I know that," she announced, unconvincingly. "If I thought, for one second, that Bartleby would hurt any of us, I never would have brought him back to the house, now would I?" Bethany seemed to say the words to try and convince herself, more so than to convince Loki.  
  
Loki nodded, more as a submission than an agreement. He watched as Bethany placed Grace into her highchair and tied a bib around the child's neck. Involuntarily, almost as if in a trance, Loki reached up and started to stroke the chain around his own neck.  
  
Bethany watched him out of the corner of her eye, noticing his necklace for the first time.  
  
"It's lovely," she said.  
  
"What?" Loki asked as he snapped out of his daydream.  
  
"Your necklace. It's lovely," Bethany repeated as she walked towards him to get a better look at the iridescent neckpiece.  
  
The necklace didn't quite shimmer with the radiance of polished gold, but instead, its beauty lied in a seemingly quiet, aging, antique quality of the piece. The chain was short and draped just below Loki's chin. On the end of the chain hung a sun-shaped charm with scratches of insignificant markings, or at least writing that Bethany couldn't make out.  
  
"Thanks," Loki muttered.  
  
"Where did you get it?" she asked, still mesmerized by the necklace's timeless beauty.  
  
"Dunno." Loki shrugged. "It was around my neck when I woke up from my, um, 'death' experience. I've never seen it before then."  
  
Bethany touched the charm with her fingertip, almost expecting to feel some kind of warmth radiating from it. It felt normal; no warmth except that which came from Loki's body heat. "A gift, maybe?" she asked.  
  
"Maybe. I don't know who would have given it to me, or why. At the time, I don't think I was worthy of any kind of gift. I was just lucky enough to be alive. But I kept it anyway. It wasn't hurting my image or anything - as if I even *have* an 'image'," he snorted.  
  
"What does it say?" Bethany asked as she rubbed her finger over the slash marks engraved in the sunny shape.  
  
"It's Aramaic. It says, 'In Darkness There Will Be Light'."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"A sign? An omen? Words to live by? I don't know. I haven't the slightest idea what it means." Loki shrugged again.  
  
They were both startled by Grace's heavy sigh. Bethany turned to her daughter and laughed. "Okay, I know. You're hungry. I get it. 'Stop looking at the jewelry, mom, and get me some food!'" Bethany chuckled again as she walked towards the refrigerator, mocking her daughter's impatient sigh.  
  
Grace giggled. The child's infectious laugh caused Loki to muster a tiny grin, but his mind suddenly wondered about Bartleby again and he remembered why he followed Bethany into the kitchen in the first place. Bartleby needed him. "May I have a glass of ice water?" Loki asked.  
  
Bethany was pulling a jug of milk out of the fridge as she smiled at Loki. "Are you sure you don't want another beer instead?" she joked.  
  
"It's not for me. I'm going to try to get Bartleby to drink. He *is* human now, after all. I can't have him slowly withering away from dehydration." Loki smiled faintly, but his words were sternly serious.  
  
Bethany's smile faded and she nodded, agreeing with Loki's idea. He had definitely changed since Bethany had last seen him; acting all paternal and thoughtful and mature. But then Bethany realized that she didn't really know the *real* Loki at all. Maybe he was always like this. Maybe she was just getting a glimpse of the real personality behind the guise of the 'Angel of Death' title he once boasted. Maybe she was seeing in Loki what Bartleby had always seen in him, and realized just why Loki and Bartleby were such good friends.  
  
Bartleby. The Watcher. The Grigori. Did she really know *him* as well as she thought she did? Was he really the angry, vengeful angel hell-bent on destroying earth so he could make it back into heaven? That's not the person she talked to, not so long ago, on the night-train to New Jersey. The Bartleby she talked with then (back then she knew him as Barry) was considerate, a good listener, and he seemed to understand and empathize with her and her apparent loss of faith in God and the humility of being cast aside by someone she loved so dearly. He knew, all too well, what Bethany had been going through.  
  
They made a connection that night. She and Bartleby were more alike than Bethany cared to admit. Like Bethany had been with her ex-husband, Bartleby was lost and afraid and confused and hurt by someone he loved. God. And that hurt turned into anger, anger so great, that he needed it to be purged while feeling justified and righteous by killing sinners. Bartleby was wrong in his actions, of course, but the more Bethany thought about it, the more she seemed to understand him.  
  
And the more she understood why Loki was so quick to forgive him. The ruthless angel that terrorized a town of people in front of a Catholic Church in New Jersey wasn't the Bartleby that Loki knew and loved. Bartleby wasn't any more a cold-hearted killer than Loki was an Angel of Death. They were no longer angels at all. //God has a plan,// Bethany repeated in her mind. //God always has a plan.//  
  
Bethany was startled back to reality when she heard Grace whimper. Bethany had been so deep in thought about Loki and Bartleby that she still hadn't begun to feed Grace breakfast. "I'm sorry, sweetie," she apologized. "Mommy's got a lot on her mind this morning. Breakfast is coming. It's coming."  
  
It's coming.  
  
^ ^ ^ ^  
  
"C'mon, B. Wake up." Loki gently shook his comatose companion. "Please wake up," he pleaded again.  
  
Loki had been in the living room for more than twenty minutes, trying in vain to wake his partner. The glass of ice water - pierced by a long pink straw - that Loki had brought from the kitchen was slowly sweating and leaving a nice water ring on the surface of the coffee table by the sofa. Loki was having a bit more trouble bringing Bartleby to consciousness than he originally anticipated. He didn't want to be rough in his attempt to awaken his friend, for Loki knew that Bartleby was hurt and that any type of movement may bring him pain. But he had to try.  
  
"Dammit, Bartleby, it's me, Loki. I need to talk to you." Loki sighed heavily. "Wake up," he commanded with a little more intensity.  
  
Bartleby stirred and moaned quietly.  
  
Loki's spirits lifted. "That's it! C'mon, B," he coaxed.  
  
Dreamily, Bartleby's eyes fluttered open. He focused on Loki with a glaze of confusion.  
  
"Thank *God*!" Loki exclaimed with joyous relief. He held Bartleby's gaze until he was sure his friend was fully awake. "Are you with me, B?"  
  
"I'm here." Bartleby's voice was scratchy and thick with sleep, but to Loki's ears, it sounded like choirs of angels in full song.  
  
"How do you feel?"  
  
"How do I look?"  
  
"Like shit."  
  
"That's how I feel."  
  
Loki smiled warmly. He never thought that hearing Bartleby speak would bring him so much joy and relief. It was the first sign that Bartleby was going to be alright and the mere thought lifted the weight of the world from Loki's shoulders. "Here," Loki reached for the glass of water and brought the straw to Bartleby's lips. "Drink this."  
  
Bartleby grimaced and turned his head away.  
  
"Drink, Bartleby." The strictness in Loki's voice left no chance for an appeal and Bartleby felt too weak to fight him anyway. He took a few shallow sips of the cool liquid.  
  
When he was finished, Bartleby took a look at his surroundings. "Where are we?"  
  
"Bethany's house."  
  
Suddenly, all the events of the fight in the alley came flooding back into Bartleby's mind. And he realized why he had awakened to immense pain. "Warlocks," he muttered with a tinge of disdain in his frail voice.  
  
"That's what I figured, too. B, what were you thinking? Maybe as an angel, you could have disposed of those creeps but-"  
  
"They were after the kid," Bartleby interrupted.  
  
"The kid? You mean the last Scion? Grace?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"But, B, you shouldn't have tried to fight them on your own. They might have killed you."  
  
"They *would* have killed her." Bartleby winced as if talking somehow hurt him. "Lucifer wants her."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"I know."  
  
Although full of questions, Loki decided not to press the issue. He and Bartleby could chat more about the situation when his friend was feeling better. They had a *lot* more to discuss and, right now, Bartleby didn't look too thrilled to be hammered with any more questions.  
  
Bethany came into the living room with Grace in her arms.  
  
"How was breakfast?" Loki asked as he turned to face them.  
  
"I wouldn't know. Grace ate it all." Bethany smiled. She saw that Bartleby was awake, but he wasn't looking at her. He was looking at Grace . . . and Grace was looking at him. Neither of them were smiling, or frowning, for that matter. Just looking. Just curious. Just . . . staring.  
  
"Hello, Bartleby," Bethany greeted.  
  
Bartleby focused his attention on Bethany. His gaze was compelling. Bethany felt as if she was being pulled forward, almost drowning in his eyes; his soft, weary, sad eyes. Why did his eyes seem so familiar? Sure, she had seen them before, but here, now, something was different, and yet the same. Bethany felt herself staring at Bartleby just as intently as Grace had been earlier.  
  
"Hi," Bartleby replied drowsily. His gaze was steadily losing its power. They were going to lose him to sleep again. He blinked heavily.  
  
Loki saw the tiredness in Bartleby's mannerisms and he almost felt guilty for forcing his companion from much needed rest. "We'll talk later," Loki assured as he pressed his palm gently against Bartleby's forehead. He still had a slight fever.  
  
Bartleby's attention was still fixated on Bethany. And then, two simple words left his lips that caused a lump to rise in Bethany's throat.  
  
"Thank you," he said gently.  
  
She knew what his gratitude was referring to. She very well may have saved his life by bringing him back to her home and taking care of him. But she never would have been able to do any of it if Bartleby hadn't saved her and Grace first.  
  
"No, thank *you*," Bethany replied as she watched Bartleby close his eyes once more.  
  
And then Bethany looked at her daughter who was sitting quietly in her arms. Grace was still staring at Bartleby, but smiling vibrantly . . . possibly conveying her own "thank you".  
  
^ ^ ^ ^ 


	6. Revelations

^ ^ ^ ^  
  
A week passed since Loki had shown up on Bethany's doorstep looking for Bartleby. A lot had changed in the household since then.  
  
Bartleby was up and around and was finally able to leave the sofa and stand on his own two feet. The gashes in his arm were healing nicely, but he still favored his tender ribs. He refused to see a doctor, assuring Loki and Bethany that he was fine and that it wasn't necessary to complicate matters by paying someone to tell him something he already knew: He had some cracked ribs. Nevertheless, Bartleby was regaining strength by the day.  
  
Bethany was surprised to find that Loki and Bartleby had been living in a house only two blocks away for the past year and a half. In all that time, she never once crossed paths with them - she was certain she'd remember if she had. Neither of the ex-angels had a driver's license, so every day since becoming human they had walked three miles to and from work at the steel mill. After all, they had to find *some* way to make money to support themselves now that they were mortal beings.  
  
All of them were still a bit shaken after the attack by the warlocks in the alleyway, so living arrangements had drastically changed. Bartleby didn't think it would be wise to leave Bethany and Grace unguarded at *any* time, so it was Loki's suggestion that either he or Bartleby remain at Bethany's house for the time being - for their protection, of course. But then worry arose that the warlocks may try to target either of the former angels if they were alone and vulnerable and easy prey. Surprising even herself, Bethany suggested that *both* Loki and Bartleby take up residence at her house until they could find out more about the missions of the warlocks and the agenda that Lucifer had for wanting Grace. Although a bit timid in his acceptance of moving in, Bartleby remained in the living room (he was becoming accustomed to sleeping on Bethany's couch anyway), and Loki moved into the guest bedroom.  
  
Kirsten was still in the dark about the truth of who her new roommates really were, but she accepted them as old friends of Bethany's. She amorously explained that their company was a relief and she definitely felt safer with two "strong, handsome men" around to protect three innocent gals. Ever the hopeless romantic (or maybe just a fool for love), Kirsten, first, had her sights set on winning Bartleby's heart, but she soon found out that he was less than pleased with her attention and he always remained distant, withdrawn and shy towards everyone. So, in Kirsten's mind, the next logical thing to do was pursue Loki, whom she found to be funny and outgoing and talkative enough to hang on his every word as if he was a savior that constantly preached the Gospel. Bethany thought that Kirsten's crush on Loki was both disgusting and cute all at the same time . . . but maybe it wasn't for the best. A relationship should not be started in lies and Bethany didn't quite know how to tell Kirsten that she was swooning over the former Angel of Death. But as of right now, the budding courtship seemed harmless.  
  
^ ^ ^ ^  
  
Bethany was already having a tough day. She had decided earlier that she was going to make a big, home-cooked meal for everyone, but complications started the moment she put the roast in the oven.  
  
It seemed that Grace was not in the best of moods. Her sad cries were heard for the past two hours and the streams of tears that flooded down her soft, rosy cheeks made Bethany feel as if she was a bad mother.  
  
"I don't know what's wrong with her," Bethany said to Kirsten as the two of them continued to stir different pots of food that were simmering on the stove. "I tried to feed her; she's not hungry. I changed her diaper, so she's clean as a whistle. I checked her temperature; she doesn't have a fever, so I don't think she's sick."  
  
"Maybe she's teething?" Loki suggested from his place at the kitchen table. He and Bartleby stayed out of the way as they watched Bethany and Kirsten work their domestic, motherly magic on the meal they were about to indulge in.  
  
"That could be," Kirsten agreed. Not able to bear the child's cries any longer, Kirsten walked over to Grace and lifted her from the highchair, all the while trying to sooth and hush her sobs. It wasn't working. "What's wrong, babe?" Kirsten asked the child, almost expecting an informative answer from her. Grace answered with more tears.  
  
With the ladies' attention fixed on Grace, both Bethany and Kirsten neglected to see that two pots on the stove had begun to boil over.  
  
"Uh, Bethany?" Loki tried for their attention. No luck. "Yo! The food!" he shouted.  
  
"What?" Bethany turned to the stove and gasped. She reached to turn off the burners and pulled the bubbling pots from the stovetop. She sighed in frustration, reaching for a dishcloth. "What a mess." The top of the stove looked like a war zone and the smell of burnt yams filtered through the air.  
  
"I'll help you clean it up," Kirsten called to Bethany. Then she walked towards Bartleby, who had been busy reading a book and almost oblivious to what had just transpired in his surroundings. "Here," Kirsten said, and without warning, she plopped the wailing Grace onto Bartleby's lap. "Can you please hold her a sec?" Her question came off more as a command.  
  
Bartleby looked horrified as he dropped his book and held onto the little bundle of weeping nerves that was just handed to him. For the past week he had done his best to stay as far away from Grace as he could; not because he didn't like the child, but because he sensed that Bethany was still wary of him and he respected the fact that she *should* be wary of him. After everything he had done in the past, Bartleby was shocked that Bethany let him remain in her home at all. So, the last thing that he wanted was to have Bethany's daughter dropped into his lap, entrusted to his care. It scared him, because right now, Bartleby wasn't even sure if he trusted himself.  
  
Bethany and Kirsten continued to clean up the colorful chaos that had been splattered on the surface of the stove. Their shoulders began to ache from the scrubbing action that seemed to be doing a less than effective job of cleaning up. After a few seconds, Bethany stopped and just stared into space. Kirsten looked at her, confused.  
  
"A little help here?" Kirsten pointed to the messy stove as she tried to get Bethany's attention.  
  
"Do you hear that?" Bethany asked as her body turned towards the direction of the kitchen table where Loki and Bartleby were seated.  
  
"Hear what?" Kirsten asked as she, too, looked in the same direction.  
  
"Silence." Bethany spoke the word in a whisper.  
  
Grace's cries had ceased. There were no more sounds of heart-wrenching baby sobs. Nothing.  
  
Bartleby was too busy swapping smiles with Grace to notice that everyone in the small kitchen was staring at him. When he did finally look up, his smile faded and a look of guilt crossed his face. Immediately, he stood up and took a step towards Bethany and held Grace out to her. "Sorry," he said meekly as if he was sure he had done something wrong.  
  
"No, no." Bethany shook her head and took a step back. "This is the first time she's been quiet for almost two hours." She smiled, letting Bartleby know that everything was alright. "You keep her."  
  
Bartleby was unsure of what to do at first. Then the baby in his arms cooed and giggled as if she'd never been crying at all. Her tears were drying, and in their place was a beautiful smile that captured Bartleby's heart. He returned her smile.  
  
"She likes you, B," Loki announced with a grin.  
  
"Yeah," Bethany said softly. "She likes you." As she watched Bartleby with her child, Bethany felt her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn't scared; it wasn't terror she was feeling. On the contrary, she was feeling something quite different than terror. Bethany was experiencing something she hadn't felt in a very long time . . .  
  
^ ^ ^ ^  
  
Bartleby was in a great mood as he walked along the deserted sidewalk towards town. He was headed to work on this fresh sunny morning. He and Loki decided to split time between work and staying home with Bethany and Grace. So, according to plan, Bartleby went to work today and Loki would be going tomorrow, and so on.  
  
But Bartleby's spirits weren't high because he was headed to a long day's work. He was feeling good about what happened between him and Grace yesterday. The fact that the child *liked* him, made Bartleby feel a little more at ease with his place in humanity. For the past year and a half, he drove himself crazy wondering why God had put him back on this earth and as a human, no less. What had he done to deserve nothing less than eternity in Hell? Bartleby figured that's where he was headed when his time as an angel ceased to exist. But instead, after having his head blown to smithereens by God, he awoke next to Loki: the angel (and friend) he had killed. Bartleby thought that, in itself, was messed up. Why was he sent to earth to live with someone he supposedly murdered? He didn't feel he belonged here . . . at least he didn't until yesterday. Things were looking up; turning around. Maybe his life as a mortal wouldn't be so bad after all.  
  
And that's when Bartleby saw him. The blood-red shirt and bald head shimmering in the morning sunlight were unmistakable. A warlock.  
  
The Devil's minion was entering a small ranch house, painted pale yellow with white shutters. It was only about three houses down from where Bartleby was now standing. Bartleby was sure the warlock hadn't seen him as he watched the unsightly, human-like creature disappear through the front door of the house.  
  
Bartleby was surprised to see a warlock out in plain sight in broad daylight. Earlier, he was quite certain that he and Loki would be safe as they walked to work, alone, as long as the sun was shining. Now he wasn't so sure.  
  
And then someone screamed. It was a female, ear-piercing scream and Bartleby was sure it emanated from inside the yellow house that the warlock had just entered.  
  
Something was not right. Bartleby felt the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention. The slight breeze that was whistling through the trees earlier had stopped and the air became thick and stale. Regardless of what his intuition was telling him, Bartleby knew he had to help whoever was screaming . . . and he bolted towards the pale yellow ranch house.  
  
Upon reaching the front steps of the house, Bartleby paused. He was still weak from his past encounter with the warlocks. He knew that his chances of entering the house and saving the victim without another tussle with a warlock were slim to none. But he *had* to try. The angel side of him was still buried deep in his subconscious and it wouldn't let him just walk away.  
  
He took a deep breath and slowly opened the front door.  
  
Bartleby took two careless steps inside and stopped dead in his tracks. Surrounding him were no less than eight warlocks - eyes like cold steel and menacing grins lacking the slightest warmth. No screaming victim in sight - there never was one. Bartleby knew he had taken the bait and had fallen headfirst into their trap. But their presence was not what caused the blood coursing through Bartleby's veins to turn to liquid ice. His eyes were focused on a powerful entity that stood in the middle of the room . . . and at that moment, nothing else existed.  
  
She was pale, but not sickly. Her skin was like pallid cream and looked to be as soft as a rose petal to the touch. Her long flowing hair cascaded down her back like black waves of the churning sea during a midnight storm. Her body was sinuously perfect in every detail, shaming any other female who stood in her company. But her eyes are what held Bartleby's gaze. Her eyes were as green as oak leaves in summer, but cast a spell of sinking fear that burned a black hole into the farthest reaches of Bartleby's heart.  
  
With a single breath that blazed in Bartleby's lungs, he hissed her name as if it pained him to speak it.  
  
"Lucifer."  
  
^ ^ ^ ^ 


	7. Not Forgiven

^ ^ ^ ^  
  
"Hello, Bartleby."  
  
Bartleby flinched at his name on Lucifer's lips. Her voice was soft and melodic, almost to the point of being hypnotizing. She sauntered slowly towards him as light as air. Her footsteps were careful and deliberate as if she was performing a ritualistic dance for her "minions". The warlocks were grinning stupidly.  
  
Lucifer stopped just in front of Bartleby, looking up to meet his gaze. Her tiny frame stood almost a head shorter than Bartleby, but the power in her stare made it seem as if she towered over him. She raised her hand and a hurricane of air came at Bartleby's back, slamming shut the door he had just walked through.  
  
Trapped.  
  
Her smile was feral as she revealed her tiny perfect teeth. "So nice of you to visit . . . after all this time." Lucifer's raised hand reached forward and gingerly touched Bartleby's ribs. The action seemed innocent enough, but Bartleby felt the frighteningly potent sting of the baseball bat connecting with his ribcage again. He winced and gasped abruptly, taking a feeble step back away from her burning fingertips. Lucifer's smile brightened. "So, someone's been taking care of you; nursing you back to health, hmm? The very woman you nearly killed has been keeping you safe." Her eyes flickered with hatred. "How ironic?" To Bartleby's relief, Lucifer turned and walked away from him. But he didn't relax. He new Lucifer too well. Bartleby watched as Lucifer made eye contact with each of the warlocks. "Leave us," she commanded them.  
  
And they did. Bartleby found himself alone in the small dank house with The Keeper of Hell. He almost felt better when the warlocks were with them. It had been a long time since Bartleby last found himself alone with Lucifer. Not long enough.  
  
"Why are you after the child?" Bartleby asked boldly.  
  
"The child? Oh, you mean the Last Scion. I'm not after her." Lucifer was less than convincing.  
  
"Liar." Bartleby grumbled.  
  
"True." Lucifer's brilliant yet eerie grin returned to her lips. "I am. But not about this. I couldn't care less about the child."  
  
"Then why did you send those creeps to attack her and her mother in the alley?"  
  
Lucifer paused a moment as her eyes traveled the length of Bartleby's body. He was uncomfortable with her stare and she knew it, and took her time. "For fun," she giggled. "Kinda like the bit of fun you had at the Catholic Church not too long ago." Her statement knocked the wind from Bartleby's lungs. "Yes. That was fun for you, wasn't it, B?"  
  
"Don't fucking call me that." Bartleby hissed.  
  
"Why not?" Lucifer acted shocked, which only infuriated Bartleby more. "It's the nickname *I* gave you, after all. 'The inseparable Lucy and B.' That's what everyone in Heaven referred to us as, don't you remember?" Her piercing green eyes locked with Bartleby's again. Bartleby wanted to hold her gaze, but couldn't help but look away. "Ahh, but things changed. And you abandoned me."  
  
"No! You abandoned us!" Bartleby shouted with anger. His fists were clenched at his sides and his brow was slick with perspiration. "It was you who questioned God and it was you who thought you were mightier than The Almighty!"  
  
"And I was cast out of Heaven." Lucifer resigned with dignity, her face falling. But then her smile returned and she looked at Bartleby with stars in her eyes. "But since then, you've questioned Him yourself . . . and you were cast out too. Am I right . . . B?"  
  
Bartleby swallowed hard and looked away from her again. "No," he whispered as if he was only speaking to himself.  
  
"No?" Lucifer repeated. "You weren't cast out of Heaven and sentenced to spend eternity in Wisconsin for your actions against God? Funny, that's what I heard happened."  
  
"He has forgiven me."  
  
"Ha! Forgiven you? Puhleez! You spent a millennia on earth as an angel and now you're here to live out the life – and death – of a human, and you think He has *forgiven* you?" Lucifer walked towards Bartleby again. "Don't be so naive, Bartleby. I know you're smarter than that. You are walking down the same path I took so many years ago."  
  
"No," Bartleby interjected.  
  
"You like that word, don't you?" Lucifer sighed. She raised her hand to Bartleby's cheek, but this time there was no sting in her gentle caress. "You are not forgiven, B. Why do you think I'm here? I've come for you; I've come to take you home . . . where you belong . . . with me."  
  
Bartleby shook his head and backed away from Lucifer again. "Liar!" he accused once more. But his self assurance was crumbling. He didn't want to believe what Lucifer was telling him, but . . .  
  
And then, in a blinking instance, Bartleby and Lucifer were no longer in the small, yellow ranch house with the white shutters. In fact, they were no longer even in Illinois. But what Bartleby saw, made him wish he was anywhere else.  
  
The scene was the same: Bloody corpses everywhere. Overturned vehicles streaming with smoke. Banners ripped and torn from their heights. Fire and ashes at every glance of landscape. The smell of death permeating the musty air. It was the Catholic Church in New Jersey; the same church that Bartleby had wreaked havoc upon in his attempt to wipe out existence.  
  
Bartleby felt his head spin and his stomach churn. Losing his balance, he grabbed a hold of the nearest tree and leaned his overbearing weight against it. "This isn't real." He clenched his eyes shut, trying to will the unspeakable scene to disappear.  
  
"But on the contrary," Lucifer's thin voice carried sharply through the air. "It is *very* real, Bartleby. You did this. And you did it well." She glanced around approvingly. "I have to admit, I'm a bit jealous – you almost stole my thunder. But I'm proud of you."  
  
"I don't want to be here." Bartleby felt increasingly sick to his stomach, almost doubling over in pain. Every time he opened his eyes, new horrors filled his vision.  
  
"But why not? It's a lovely sight. So much pain; so much death; so much *hate*! It's invigorating! Wallow in your glory, Bartleby. You . . . did . . . this!" Lucifer threw her head back and laughed, letting her raven waves of hair dance weightlessly through the breeze.  
  
"I don't want to be here." Bartleby couldn't say anything else. His tongue was thick in his throat and his eyes welled with tears. He clutched the tree even tighter, hugging it as if it was his only link to sanity.  
  
Lucifer saw her opportunity and slithered to Bartleby's side. She leaned her face close to his ear and whispered: "You felt righteous, didn't you? Justified? Eager even? I know you did, B. I *felt* it. I felt the power of hate in you – so strong."  
  
Bartleby just continued to shake his head, clenching his eyes shut, wishing he could cut out Lucifer's tongue and shove it down her throat. "I was wrong," he finally said, gaining back some of his dignity.  
  
But Lucifer struck back with venomous intent. "And were you wrong in doing this?" She pointed to a figure laying face-down at Bartleby's feet. The figure hadn't been there before, but it was there now. The blonde mop of hair and the bloody stumps where beautiful wings had once been, was enough to let Bartleby know who the twisted and motionless figure was. "You enjoyed killing him, didn't you, Bartleby? He lost the faith, right? Loki was always too stupid to realize true greatness and wisdom like you and I."  
  
"No!" Bartleby said again, angered at Lucifer's degrading words. "*I* was too stupid to listen to true greatness and wisdom! *I* was too stupid to listen to Loki! I was wrong! I was wrong!" Bartleby felt the rush of power in his voice, but at the same time he felt the weakness in his limbs and he slumped to the ground. He was trembling with guilt, but he kept his tears of self pity at bay. He would not give Lucifer the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Silence stretched out between them and all that was heard was the quiet crackling of distant fires and an occasional wisp of steam from a nearby crumpled wreck of a car. "I don't want to be here," Bartleby finally spoke again.  
  
Bartleby felt Lucifer's hand lay upon his head and when he looked up, the Catholic Church was gone. The destruction was gone. The dead Loki was gone. Lucifer and Bartleby were back in the dank, empty ranch house in Illinois.  
  
Bartleby took a deep, shaky breath and forced himself to his feet. His soft, weary brown eyes met the gaze of Lucifer's striking, entrancing green ones.  
  
"I showed you all of that because I still love you, B, and I just want you to see who you really are. You must know that." Lucifer spoke with sincerity in her voice that Bartleby had not heard in a long time.  
  
But he shook his head anyway. "You are incapable of love."  
  
"No," she replied swiftly. "I am incapable of loving Her." Lucifer thrust a finger towards the sky. "I am not incapable of loving another." She watched as Bartleby turned from her and started towards the door. "You are right about one thing: I am a liar. I am The Father of Lies. But what I told you today was the truth, Bartleby. All of it. I am here to take you back with me . . . because you were *not* forgiven. By leaving now, you are only prolonging the inevitable. You are on the same path I have already taken," Lucifer repeated her earlier statement. "And, as always, you and I are destined to be together. Deny it all you want, B. It's the truth. But you don't have to take my word for it. Deep down, your heart is telling you the same thing."  
  
Bartleby put his hand on the knob and opened the door without turning back to glance at Lucifer as she spoke. But he left her with chilling words of his own: "I stopped listening to my heart a long time ago."  
  
Bartleby was a liar too.  
  
^ ^ ^ ^  
  
The Sloan household was warm and inviting as Bartleby walked through the door, exhausted from a long day's work. He ambled down the hallway and towards the light that shone brightly from the kitchen. He heard muffled voices and laughter as he turned the corner and blinked rapidly, gazing into the brilliantly glowing kitchen.  
  
Loki saw him first. "Hey, B! How was work?"  
  
But Kirsten didn't wait for Bartleby to answer. "Welcome home! Come join us. Supper's almost ready," she chortled.  
  
Bartleby received a smile from Bethany who was stirring some unknown, but deliciously aromatic, substance on the stovetop. But Grace's infectious giggle caught Bartleby's attention and he glanced in her direction. The second his eyes locked with Grace's, Bartleby felt the wicked rush of everything that had happened today flood back into his mind and torment his thoughts. He felt a spell of vertigo take hold of him once again and he swayed where he stood. But Grace just kept on smiling at him as if he was her best friend – which he was not. Was he really anyone's best friend? No. He couldn't be. Not after what Lucifer had said. Not ever again.  
  
"You okay, B?" Loki rose from his chair and took a step in Bartleby's direction. "You're looking kinda pale."  
  
"I'm fine." Bartleby waved Loki back and retreated a few steps out of the doorway of the kitchen. "I just . . . I just need to go wash up." And he quickly disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.  
  
He hurried to the sanctuary of the bathroom; closed and locked the door. He didn't turn on the light; too afraid of what revulsion he might see in the mirror. Instead, Bartleby closed the lid of the toilet and sat down. And then he did what he couldn't bring himself to do in front of Lucifer:  
  
He cried.  
  
^ ^ ^ ^ 


	8. Seed Of Misery

^ ^ ^ ^  
  
Loki was not in the best of moods. He wasn't sick. In fact, he felt fine; better than fine. He felt good. Things were going quite well for him. His life as a mortal had been changing, but changing for the better, he thought. Living with Bethany and Kirsten and Grace made Loki feel welcome and almost . . . home. And Kirsten. Loki wasn't certain what he was feeling for Kirsten, but he was certain that he liked it, and that he liked her. But still, as Loki walked to work on the dull, gray, chilly morning, he was not in the best of moods. He was worried about Bartleby.  
  
On the surface, Bartleby seemed fine. Loki noticed how well Bartleby acted out the part of being content and at ease and happy, but Loki didn't spend his entire existence with Bartleby to be so easily fooled by his friend's facade. Something or someone had hurt Bartleby. Maybe not physically (like with a baseball bat to the ribs), Loki thought, but hurt him nonetheless. Something had changed in his friend – like a flame of hope had been doused from his soul. And the thought of it was eating Loki up inside.  
  
And Bartleby had been acting strange and detached lately; like when he asked Loki to take a different route to work from now on, but didn't give a reason why. Or like when he told Loki to be very careful when out alone, even in broad daylight. And Loki *was* careful and he thought that maybe Bartleby was just being a bit too overprotective . . . that is unless Bartleby knew something that Loki didn't.  
  
All of these thoughts ran through his mind as he strode along the sidewalk towards the steel mill. He was dreading work. He loathed it. Bending steel for a living didn't seem quite as glorious or as fun as laying entire cities to waste, but if a dramatic career change was part of the compromise when he became human then so be it.  
  
Maybe it was out of curiosity, or maybe Loki was just being defiant, but he didn't change his route to work as Bartleby had asked. Besides, he liked this route and it was familiar to him and it was the fastest way to the steel mill, and in Loki's mind, fast equaled good.  
  
But as he walked, tightness in his chest and a strange feeling of trepidation overtook him. He saw nothing to make him feel this way. All was calm and peaceful, and the row homes were not threatening to come alive and chase him down the street. But still, as Loki took more steps past each of the houses, his gait slowed and his confidence dwindled.  
  
And then he stopped.  
  
Loki took a good look around. There wasn't a soul to be seen. He was alone in the street . . . but he didn't *feel* alone. Then his gaze settled on the house beside him. It was a simple ranch house; pale yellow with white shutters. It didn't look any different or any more special than the other homes Loki passed, and he knew he must have passed this very house a hundred times on his way to and from work. So why did he feel uneasy standing in front of it now?  
  
Then, Loki felt an aching pain in his hand. Startled, he looked down to find that he was gripping the charm of his necklace painfully tight; so tight that his knuckles were white with strain. He could feel the markings of the inscribed words on the sun-shaped piece burning into his fisted palm: In Darkness There Will Be Light.  
  
Loki took a deep breath and then let go of the charm. He looked at the ranch house again, studying it carefully. It looked harmless and even normal. Frustrated, he sighed and turned from the pale yellow house and continued on his way. But the feeling of anxiety that churned in the pit of Loki's stomach didn't diminish as the house faded into the distance behind him.  
  
^ ^ ^ ^  
  
Twilight was fast approaching as Loki made his way home from work. He could make out the hint of shimmering stars peeking through the haze of the pink and purple sunset sky. The cold evening air was settling on his goosefleshed skin, urging him to walk a little faster while he thought of the loving warmth of the Sloan household.  
  
But unavoidably, there it was: the pale yellow house with the white shutters. Loki didn't want to stop and look at it again, but he felt compelled to do so. What was it about this house that intrigued him? Maybe "intrigued" wasn't quite the right word to describe his feelings. Frightened? Yes, the house frightened him and he felt the tightness creep back into his chest.  
  
Was this the reason Bartleby asked him to change his route to work? Loki wondered if the ranch house "frightened" Bartleby too. He decided he'd ask Bartleby about it when he got home.  
  
Loki turned from the house, ever eager to put distance between it and himself, took one step and stopped dead in his tracks. His breath caught in his throat as he eyed the slender figure standing before him . . . and Loki immediately *knew* why Bartleby didn't want him to walk the route past the pale yellow house; he *knew* why Bartleby had been acting so strange; and he *knew* that Bartleby, and all who were close to him were in grave danger.  
  
"My, my, my. If it isn't The Angel of Death!" Lucifer cried. "Woops, I mean the *former* Angel of Death. So nice to see you again, Loki." Lucifer grinned wildly and crinkled her tiny nose at Loki.  
  
Loki felt white hot anger boiling through his veins. He was aware that it was wrong to hate, but if there was one person who he couldn't feel *anything* but hate for, it was Lucifer. His eyes were blue flames of fire as he glared at her. "What do you want?" he asked through clenched teeth.  
  
Lucifer ignored his question and turned her attention towards the house. "I see you were admiring my humble abode. It's lovely, don't you think?" She chuckled and then winked. "It's not much, but it's a lot cooler than Hell, that's for sure!"  
  
Loki was increasingly disinterested in Lucifer's small-talk. He decided to cut straight to the chase. "You've talked to Bartleby." It was an accusation, not a question, and Lucifer understood the difference.  
  
The glimmer in her eyes and the wicked grin tugging at her lips revealed the disturbing answer. "Bartleby," she let out a long breath of air. "Yes," Lucifer began, "We've chatted. We had a lot to discuss."  
  
"What did you say to him?"  
  
Lucifer found Loki's question to be rather amusing. She had just realized one little detail; probably the reason Loki was acting so angry and betrayed. "Bartleby didn't tell you that he saw me, did he?" Her smile widened. Lucifer turned and murmured to herself: "He was keeping it our little secret."  
  
"What did you say to him?" Loki shouted the question this time.  
  
"What does it matter, Loki? Why is my exchange of words with Bartleby so important to you?" Lucifer was having fun. She circled Loki as she spoke, loving the fact that he wouldn't take his eyes from hers.  
  
Many emotions were channeling through Loki's body, but one emotion emanated from him far stronger than all of the others combined: Anger. It was a "stupid human emotion" that Loki found not very easy to control. His teeth clenched tightly together, causing a lightning jolt of pain to shoot through his jaw and down his neck. It took every ounce of strength for him to keep himself from lunging at Lucifer. He had to get away from her before he did something he would regret . . . or maybe worse, before he did something he *wouldn't* regret. They were all foolish thoughts, Loki knew. He was mortal now. As an angel, he may have been a great adversary, but Lucifer had the edge now. He had no power over Lucifer and was clearly no match for her anymore. And he knew that it was Lucifer who was helping the current of anger course through his veins. And anger made one careless in battle. Loki needed to calm himself.  
  
He took a deep breath of the cold, dusky air and let the coolness of the breeze empty his head of mangled thoughts of violence. "Stay away from him." Loki was almost startled by the sheer lividness he heard in his own voice.  
  
Lucifer laughed heartily. If she felt threatened by his words, she didn't show it. "Silly, Loki," she giggled, "You know I can't do that."  
  
Loki turned from her and began to walk away. He knew what she meant, or even more so, what she was implying. He knew of Lucifer's and Bartleby's past, and he realized that his argument could not be won. But Loki was as stubborn as a mule, and no matter who his opponent was, whether he could win the battle or not, no matter what the cost or consequence, he would fight for Bartleby. "You can't have him, Lucifer." And he continued to put distance between himself and The Keeper of Hell.  
  
But Lucifer would not let the conversation end there. She had to have the last word and she had to plant a seed of misery able to grow and tangle in Loki's mind. "Ah, Loki: naïve and stupid to the very end." She paused for effect; willing to let her words of stinging ardor drift effortlessly along the bitter wind. "He's already mine."  
  
^ ^ ^ ^ 


	9. Free Will

Chapter Nine:  
  
^ ^ ^ ^  
  
Bartleby held Grace in his arms as she giggled and cooed. Sitting in the kitchen, among Kirsten and Bethany, the two exchanged smiles and laughs as they waited patiently for dinner to be served.  
  
Kirsten sat at the table across from Bartleby and Grace, and took delightful notice of how Bethany would watch the two of them out of the corner of her eye as she continued to cut up fresh vegetables for the stew that was simmering on the stove. Kirsten couldn't help but see something in Bethany's eyes as she watched Bartleby and Grace play together – or more so, how Bethany watched *Bartleby*. She lost count of the timid smiles that played on Bethany's lips every time she looked at him. Bartleby, on the other hand, was oblivious, as usual, and Kirsten was itching to change that.  
  
But, all cupid's-arrow thoughts were clipped from Kirsten's mind when they all were startled by the crashing sound of the front door slamming shut.  
  
"Guess Loki's home." Kirsten stood from her chair, ready to give Loki a big, 'welcome home' hug when he entered the kitchen, but one look at him changed her mind completely. He didn't even *look* at her. His eyes, his *angry* eyes were fixated on Bartleby.  
  
"I need to talk to you," Loki glanced up at Kirsten and Bethany and then returned his gaze to Bartleby. "Privately," he spoke through clenched teeth.  
  
Bartleby was too preoccupied with Grace to be concerned or to even *notice* how distressed Loki seemed. "Yeah, sure. Just gimme a min—"  
  
"Now," Loki interrupted lividly.  
  
Bartleby finally looked up at Loki, startled. Loki left the kitchen and headed for his bedroom. Bartleby handed Kirsten the baby and after a look of confusion and a shrug, he followed his friend.  
  
Kirsten looked over at Bethany who had stopped cutting the vegetables long enough to take in the sight of the unexpected confrontation. "What's going on?"  
  
Bethany shook her head. "Haven't a clue."  
  
^ ^ ^ ^  
  
Loki took off his hooded trench coat and threw it onto the bed as Bartleby entered the room, closing the door behind him. Bartleby watched Loki pace back and forth in front of him and run his fingers through his hair.  
  
"Have a bad day at work?" Bartleby was about to smile until Loki glared at him with such angry eyes, it made him frown instead. "What's wrong, Loki?"  
  
Loki stopped pacing, shook his head and laughed without any evident humor. "What's wrong? You want to know what's wrong?" He looked at Bartleby again. "As if you didn't already know."  
  
Bartleby waited for Loki to finish, but no explanation came. "Know what?"  
  
"B, how can I trust you if you keep things from me?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Don't play dumb with me. This is serious, damn it!"  
  
"Loki, I don't know what you're talking ab—"  
  
"Lucifer," Loki watched as that one word turned Bartleby's confused expression into a guilty one. "I saw Lucifer today, Bartleby."  
  
Unable to look at Loki, Bartleby was silent.  
  
"Fuck, B. Why? Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"I didn't want to worry you. I didn't think it was important—"  
  
"You didn't think it was important? Lucifer is walking around on earth, posing as a human, obviously up to something, and you don't think that's important?" Loki gaped at his friend in utter astonishment. "We already know she's after Grace."  
  
"She's not after Grace."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"Lucifer told me she's not after Grace."  
  
"And you believe her? B, what the hell is wrong with you?" Loki grabbed the front of Bartleby's shirt. "For fuck's sake, man, snap out of it!" He shoved Bartleby, pushing him back once, twice . . .  
  
"Let go of me!" Bartleby shouted and tore himself away from Loki's grip. He stumbled backward and winced as his back hit the wall, hard.  
  
Seeing the pain on Bartleby's face erased any anger Loki felt at that moment. He was shocked at what he'd just done. Loki took a timorous step towards Bartleby and felt his heart sink into his stomach as he watched his friend flinch at his approach, cowering awkwardly and quickly folding his arms across his chest to shield his tender ribs. Loki's heart flooded with regret. "I'm so sorry, B." His voice trembled with emotion. "I – I didn't mean to . . ." Loki lost his ability to speak, and shuddered. What was he doing? He was angry at Bartleby, but he would never *ever* be angry enough to *hurt* him. He would *never* hurt him. Loki took slow, deep breaths and sat down on the edge of the bed, putting his head in his hands.  
  
A few minutes passed and then Loki felt the mattress sink lower as someone sat down beside him, and at once he felt the warmth of strong, protective arms slide around his shoulders, holding him close.  
  
"I'm sorry for not telling you about Lucifer," he heard Bartleby whisper.  
  
"I know you are," Loki replied, just as softly. "And I'm sorry for not being very good at controlling my temper. You know I'd never hurt—"  
  
"I know, Loki." Bartleby squeezed tighter and Loki hugged him back. "I know."  
  
Loki swallowed the lump in his throat and felt the warm sting of tears forming in his eyes. He realized that it wasn't Bartleby he was angry with; he was angry with himself – angry and scared. Lucifer was on the prowl, and Bartleby was right: Lucifer wasn't after Grace. Loki *knew* who she was after. She was after Bartleby. And that made Loki angrier and more scared than he'd ever been before. He was angry because he wasn't strong enough to take on the awesome power of the Devil. And he was scared because that power was threatening to take someone away from him; the one person who Loki loved more than anyone or anything else in the entire universe; the one person who knew Loki better than Loki knew himself; the one person who would forever forgive Loki for anything he did because that's just the way it had always been; the one person who he couldn't live without. . .  
  
"Bartleby?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"What did Lucifer say to you?" Loki felt Bartleby stiffen at the inquiry.  
  
"I'm not going with her, Loki."  
  
Loki noticed that Bartleby conveniently did not answer the question. So, he struck harder with his next query. "Did she tell you that she still loves you?"  
  
Silence, only this time Bartleby dropped his arms and stood from the bed.  
  
Loki blinked back his tears and rose from the bed as well. He gently turned Bartleby to face him directly. "She did, didn't she?"  
  
"It doesn't matter what Lucifer said. I'm not going back with her." Loki felt Bartleby tremble in his grip. "I'm not," he repeated, shaking his head.  
  
"Damn right, you're not." Loki could feel the shivers of fear coursing through his friend's body. "B, don't let her do this to you. Don't let her get to you. Whatever she told you were lies. Believing Lucifer is just letting her gain the advantage. You need to be strong; *we* need to be strong. Do you hear me?"  
  
Bartleby nodded his head ever so slightly, but his eyes did not meet Loki's.  
  
"Look at me, B." Bartleby did as he was told. "Lucifer doesn't make the rules. But she also doesn't play fair. She's up to something. I can feel it in my bones. From now on, we all have to be extra careful."  
  
"But why?" Bartleby finally spoke. "We've been on earth for over a millennia and Lucifer never gave us a problem before. Why should we be so worried about what she's doing now?"  
  
"Because *before* we were angels. She couldn't touch us then. We were beyond her reach. We're human now, B, which means we're fair game; *you're* fair game."  
  
Bartleby took a step away from Loki and shook his head again. "Then I should go. I'm endangering you and everyone in this house if I stay."  
  
"It wouldn't matter if you left or not. We're all in this together. No matter what, Lucifer would somehow use us to get to you. You know that as much as I do, so don't even think about leaving. You got that?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"I said, you got that?" Loki repeated heatedly.  
  
"I got it," Bartleby mumbled.  
  
Loki took a long look at Bartleby's troubled expression. He knew his friend was fighting with the guilt of putting others in danger, but there was no other way. Loki was *not* letting Bartleby leave, and he definitely wasn't going to give him up to Lucifer. The only thing that gave Loki hope was that God was on their side. Loki and Bartleby were on earth as humans for a reason, and that reason was *not* to be taken by Lucifer. Loki was sure of that. But Bartleby didn't seem to be so sure.  
  
"Maybe . . . maybe I'm supposed to be with Luc—"  
  
"No!" Loki shouted without appeal.  
  
"Think about it, Loki. Even *you* said that I reminded you of her. Maybe I *am* on the same path she has already taken. Maybe I *am* supposed to be with—"  
  
"What are you talking about? You never *ever* reminded me of Lucifer. When would I have ever said--" Loki stopped, thinking back to the night he and Bartleby were thrown from the train on their way to New Jersey; on their way to the Catholic Church. He remembered the argument he had with Bartleby in the underground parking lot. He remembered saying: "You sound like Lucifer, man! You fucking lost it!" Loki looked at Bartleby who saw the revelation in his friend's eyes. "Oh, B. I didn't say you reminded me of Lucifer. I said you *sounded* like her. I was just trying to talk some sense into you. You were on a tear, man. You were scaring me, so I thought if you could only gage how you were acting, you would stop. But I think when I mentioned Lucifer by name; it just pissed you off even more. Please don't *ever* think that you remind me of her. God, that couldn't be further from the truth. The only thing you two have in common is—"Loki stopped short again.  
  
"Is what?" Bartleby asked.  
  
Loki didn't reply.  
  
"Is what?" Bartleby said again.  
  
"Free will."  
  
"What?" Bartleby was genuinely confused.  
  
"As angels, you both had it. You both had - and still have - free will."  
  
Bartleby blinked a few times, gaping at Loki. "You don't know what you're talking about," he finally spoke in a low growl.  
  
"Don't I? B, that's what set you and Lucifer apart from the rest of the heavenly angels. It's the way you both were made."  
  
Bartleby turned his back to Loki, unwilling to face him . . . or *unable* to.  
  
"You think the rest of us didn't know? How could we not know, Bartleby? It took free will to rage a war against God; to take on The Throne. Lucifer would never have even *thought* to do such a thing without the use of free will. And *you* asked me to lay down the sword. You asked me not to do *God's* will and punish the humans who were deserving of His wrath. It was *your* will not to kill them; your *free* will, Bartleby. I never would have considered to lay down my sword until you put the thought in my head. I didn't have the option of wondering if my job was right or wrong. I didn't have anything but God's will to perform. But you . . . you and Lucifer didn't have to conform to God's will. He gave you your own." Loki wished he could see Bartleby's face. He started to circle his friend, slowly trying to face him as he continued to speak. "When we were cast out of Heaven, it was you who did everything in your power to get us back in. No matter what the cost, you willed the chance to get back into Heaven by way of a loophole—"  
  
"You're the one who wanted to kill all those executives from the Mooby Corporation!" Bartleby startled Loki when he whirled to face him, his eyes shaky with confusion and anger and a bit of what Loki thought might be self- loathing. "That wasn't my idea! You had free will too, Loki!"  
  
Loki shook his head. "That was my former *job*, B. I wasn't acting on my own free will. I was only trying to do the job I was created to do. It was the only thing I ever knew how to do. Wanting to kill those people wasn't an act of free will; it was just me doing my job as The Angel of Death."  
  
Bartleby shook with emotion. Loki wasn't sure if his friend was angry or scared shitless. Maybe it was a bit of both.  
  
"You and Lucifer were different in the sense that you were both given a gift that only humans received. The two of you were the only angels in existence with the gift of free will, of free thinking, not bound by the will of God." Loki spoke softly and evenly. He wasn't trying to upset Bartleby. He was merely trying to explain to him.  
  
Seemingly defeated in his argument, Bartleby tried to relax and let out a hearty sigh. "And look what fucking free will got us: Lucifer was sentenced to Hell and we got a one way ticket to Wisconsin; no longer welcome in our own home - the only home we've ever known. Why would She do that? Why would God give an angel free will if She knew what trouble it would cause?" Bartleby's question just seemed to breed more resentment. "It wasn't a gift. It was a goddamn curse."  
  
Loki realized the turmoil that was raging through Bartleby's mind, but he didn't know how to comfort his companion. So he said the only thing he knew to say: "God has a plan, B."  
  
"Yeah, I know. She always has a plan." Bartleby retorted with unbridled mockery.  
  
"Hey, now. I know things may seem pretty screwy at this point, but you have to have faith, Bartleby. And remember, I'm just getting used to this whole 'free will' thing myself. It's hard to know what's the right thing to do or even *what* to do in any given situation, and only be able to hope that it's what God would want me to do. I want my will to *be* God's will, ya know? It's hard, but I'm trying . . . and I have faith."  
  
Eyes full of wonder and surprise, Bartleby smiled at Loki. "Gee, Loki, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were getting a bit wise in your old age."  
  
"Watch your mouth!" Loki scolded in a teasing manner. "I may be older than you, but not by much."  
  
"Oh, please!" Bartleby laughed. "In human years, you're old enough to be my grandfather!"  
  
"Maybe so, kid, but you obviously didn't ever learn to respect your elders." Loki playfully smacked the back of Bartleby's head and smiled. He missed this kind of loving banter he'd often shared with Bartleby in the past. Things had gotten so out of hand, the last few years, that times like these seemed few and far between. And this type of play only helped to strengthen Loki's bond with Bartleby. They needed each other more than they both realized.  
  
They both just stood there looking at each other, caught up in the moment that let them forget – if only for one second – about the impending danger that threatened to tear them apart.  
  
"God does have a plan, B." Loki reinforced his proclamation, bringing back the seriousness of their situation. "And for reasons unknown to us, we're here on earth as mortals; thrust into a world we don't quite understand. It's almost as if we've been reborn; offered a second chance; given a clean slate; a fresh start—"  
  
"We can't return to innocence if we were never innocent to begin with." Bartleby's demeanor changed drastically with that statement. Inside, he was still wrestling with the unsettling feelings of confusion and hurt, and although he didn't let on how much he was hurting, Loki knew *why* his friend was feeling this way.  
  
"Listen to me, Bartleby. We've all done some stupid things in the past. The important thing is that we must realize what we did was wrong and make amends. You can't change what happened that day at the church." Loki felt a pang of sorrow creep into his gut as his words seemed to cut into Bartleby like a jagged blade. "What's done is done. But in the end, you told God you were sorry; you knew what you did was wrong and you apologized. You're right: None of us are innocent of anything anymore, but we *can* be forgiven . . . and you were forgiven, B. You were forgiven by Her . . . and by me."  
  
Loki saw the unshed tears glimmering in Bartleby's haunted eyes. He wanted so much to just hold Bartleby and rid his troubled friend of all the pain and torment he was keeping bottled up inside. But now, it looked as if one touch would surely crack Bartleby's self control and no doubt cause him to shatter into a billion pieces.  
  
"And if Lucifer told you any different, she's lying," Loki assured, finally figuring it all out. *That* was the emptiness he saw in Bartleby. The spark of hope that Bartleby had desperately clung to; the hope that he was forgiven, had been extinguished by Lucifer. And the thought of her, now, made Loki seethe with scalding rage.  
  
"But if I was forgiven – if *we* were forgiven, then why were we sent here instead of being allowed back into Heaven?" Bartleby sounded like a lost child pleading for someone to help him find his way home.  
  
A laden sigh escaped Loki's lips and he shook his head. "I don't have the answer to that question, B." Loki leaned close to Bartleby and putting his hand on the back of Bartleby's neck, he pulled his friend towards him, gently pressing their foreheads together. "All I know is that I'm still with you . . . and that's 'heaven' enough for me."  
  
^ ^ ^ ^ 


	10. Confessions

  
  
Bethany had been sitting at the kitchen table stirring the stew in her bowl for the past five minutes without taking a bite. She was hungry, but her mind was elsewhere. She looked up to find Kirsten staring at her. "What?" Bethany asked, confused.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
Bethany sighed and looked towards the kitchen doorway. "They've been in Loki's room for a long time. Their food is getting cold."  
  
"So is yours," Kirsten replied simply.  
  
Bethany blinked at her cooling bowl of soup and then smiled sheepishly. "I guess I'm just not that hungry."  
  
"Liar," Kirsten retorted. She continued to stare at her friend.  
  
"What? Is something wrong, Kirsten?" Bethany asked a bit urgently. Kirsten's eyes upon her were beginning to make Bethany feel uneasy.  
  
Kirsten dropped her soup spoon into her empty dish and sighed, relaxing back into her chair. She stared at her friend for a few more seconds before she finally spoke.  
  
"I really like Loki, Bethany."  
  
Bethany was confused by this statement. It wasn't at all what she had been expecting to hear. "That's . . . nice."  
  
"And I think Loki might be the one, ya know what I mean? And I never would have found him without your help . . . well, kind of." Kirsten's words were not sitting well with Bethany. Bethany knew that her friend was always quick to fall in love, but she also knew things about Loki that Kirsten did not and she wasn't quite sure if she wanted her friend to get too deep into this relationship. But Kirsten rambled on. "But you know that in the beginning, when I first met Loki and Bartleby, it had been Bartleby who piqued my interest the most. It had been Bartleby who I had my sights set on . . . until I realized something." Kirsten paused and leaned forward in her chair again. "I realized you didn't like that."  
  
"I didn't like what?" Bethany increasingly disapproved of where she thought this conversation was headed, and she wasn't in the mood for any type of confrontation, not even from her best friend.  
  
Kirsten smiled and shook her head. "Did you think I wouldn't notice? Huh? Did you think I wouldn't see the way you look at Bartleby?"  
  
Embarrassed and a bit angry, Bethany stood from her chair and walked to the garbage can and dumped the remainder of her stew, all the while avoiding eye contact with Kirsten.  
  
Kirsten continued. "C'mon, Bethany. It's blatantly obvious that you feel something for him. I can see it in your eyes every time you look at him. And you didn't like the fact that I was interested in Bartleby. It's almost as if you'd already claimed him for yourself, or something." Kirsten smiled, trying not to make her statement sound too threatening. "But that's okay, Bethany. I know when something is not meant to be and Bartleby and I aren't . . . but you," she sighed and cocked her head as if confused, "There is something between you two. I see it."  
  
"Would you please just stop trying to play matchmaker?" Bethany blurted out irritably. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You don't know what happened—" Bethany caught her breath before she realized she had already spoken too much.  
  
"Then tell me what happened. You say that Bartleby is someone from your past, but you've declined to elaborate on that. Obviously something has happened between the two of you and it has yet to be resolved. Excuse me for prying, but he and Loki live here now and I'd appreciate not being left in the dark about things, especially when it comes to the happiness of my best friend. I'm worried about you, Bethany. Talk to me."  
  
Bethany turned to face Kirsten, eyes filled with astonishment at her friend's outburst. She didn't realize how much this not-so-little secret had been hurting Kirsten. And then, Grace made a little whimpering noise as she sat eating her dinner in her highchair and Bethany focused on her daughter.  
  
Kirsten looked from Bethany to Grace and then back again. The wheels were rapidly turning in her agile mind. And then, at that moment, understanding danced in her eyes. "You know, you never told me who Grace's father is."  
  
Bethany immediately darted her attention back to Kirsten, shaking her head. She knew what Kirsten was about to ask next. "No," she squeaked.  
  
"Bethany, is Bartleby Grace's father?" Kirsten asked anyway.  
  
Bethany shook her head more violently. "No," she said again, louder. God, it would be so much easier to tell Kirsten if Bartleby truly was Grace's father. It would be a hell of a lot more simple than trying to explain to her best friend that The Almighty, Himself, was the Father of her child.  
  
Kirsten wrinkled her brow and absently scratched her chin. Bethany knew that Kirsten was so sure of her discovery and was wondering if she had been lied to.  
  
Finally, after another staring contest between her and her best friend, Bethany sighed and sat back down at the kitchen table across from Kirsten. "You're right. I have been keeping things from you – not telling you the whole truth, and I'm sorry. And it's time I come clean about . . . everything." Bethany hesitated for a moment, wondering if she was doing the right thing. "But you might not like what I'm about to tell you; you might not even believe it at all. But I swear to you, right now, on my life – on my daughter's life, what I'm about to tell you is the honest-to- God truth."  
  
Kirsten nodded attentively, waiting patiently for the explanation she had been searching for. "I'm listening."  
  
"And I want to warn you now, what I say may change a lot of what you think of me and what you think of Bartleby and Loki as well." Bethany trembled at the thought of explaining to her friend that Bartleby and Loki were angels, well, former angels. If Kirsten didn't laugh her ass off, thinking this was all just some big practical joke, then she'd surely have Bethany committed to the nearest rubber room complete with a straight jacket and medication for life. "And it's not all good, and won't be easy for you to understand."  
  
"You're starting to scare me, Bethany."  
  
"Most of the time, the truth is scary. But you deserve to hear it."  
  
"Yes, she does," A new voice called from the doorway.  
  
Bethany and Kirsten turned to see Loki standing in the hall, just beyond the kitchen doorway, with Bartleby towering right behind him.  
  
"We all need to talk," Loki assured as he ambled into the room.  
  
Bethany glanced at Bartleby as he followed his friend into the tiny kitchen, and his eyes told her that he'd been keeping secrets of his own . . . secrets that Bethany was sure would not all be revealed tonight.  
  



End file.
